


Tomorrow

by MirrorElm



Series: Ever After [3]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Insect Horde, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorElm/pseuds/MirrorElm
Summary: Tommy tries to deal with the aftermath of the tunnel collapse, but there's other obstacles in the way.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Ever After [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837825
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	1. Waking

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, but I'm back. The first chapter has no Alfie in it and is a bit more angsty, but there's comfort somewhere in here :P

_Present day_

The darkness is over as soon as it’s begun. Tommy blinks at the dim neon light above him. He’s in a hospital bed again, but this time he’s alone. This… doesn’t make any sense. Memories of what happened before he blacked out are a blurry mess in his mind and he struggles to put together the pieces.

When he wants to sit up, he notices the restraints on his arms and legs, pinning him to the bed. The air is taken from his lungs immediately. Fuck. He’s trapped. Trapped like he was under the concrete and mud. He can’t breathe. His lungs are full of dust. He tries screaming for help. If he moves, he’ll only get crushed further.

Tommy barely notices the nurse when she rushes into the room. Can’t hear her when she pleads with him to calm down. He does however feel the sting of a needle, but he doesn’t get the chance to linger on the pain. A sudden calm overtakes him. He feels drunk.

“There… all better,” she smiles sympathetically, “I know you don’t like the restraints, but we have to keep them on until the doctor says otherwise.”

What the hell is going on? He has so many questions, he’s so confused, but any thoughts he has are too heavy to process.

“Alfie,” he manages to mutter.

The nurse shushes him, “go back to sleep, sir. You’re not allowed any visitors at the moment.”

What? Why not?

Tommy doesn’t get the chance to ask. Or maybe he does, but there’s no answer. The nurse leaves him in the dim light, alone, high and confused. He doesn’t have much time to worry though, soon overtaken by sleep yet again.

The next time he wakes, the room is different. Both neon lights above him are shining brighter, illuminating every nook and cranny around him. He wishes there were a clock. Maybe he wouldn’t feel as lost if he knew the time. As soon as he tries to move, he’s reminded of the restraints keeping him tied to the bed. It takes all of him not to scream again.

_Fuck, Tommy, keep it together. You’re in the bunker. Underground, yes, but not buried. Restrained, but not crushed._

He needs to close his eyes and clench his jaw to get himself under control. No fucking way is he getting drugged again.

It doesn’t help that he’s sore all over from being bedridden and that he can’t even stretch himself out. Deep breaths are about all that keeps him somewhat grounded. After a moment of silent meditation, he goes and does what he does best. He thinks.

Now that his mind isn’t completely panicked or hazy from drugs, he tries to piece together what he can.

He got out of New Camden alive. That much he knows. They took him to the hospital wing of bunker 1. Alfie was there. But then… the rest is fuzzy. He remembers claws against the walls and cracks in the concrete. Another collapse, but… he’s not hurt. Well, at least not any more than before. Alfie said there was no noise. Was it all just in his head? Nothing makes sense anymore.

Tommy sighs.

He needs to see Alfie. And Pol. And Ada. Fucking all of them, he needs to see them. Needs to be sure that they’re okay, even if he can’t be sure about anything else.

The nurse walks into his room, disrupting his thoughts. He’d wipe the tears from his face if he could.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she smiles warmly. It makes Tommy’s skin crawl, “I’ll go fetch the doctor.”

She’s out again. When she comes back, there’s a young blonde man in a white coat behind her. He’s wearing the same warm smile. Tommy does his best not to sneer.

“Hello there,” he speaks in a low voice, “I’m doctor Hark. How are we feeling today?”

The man is standing at the foot of his bed, clipboard in hand, stethoscope dangling around his neck. Tommy doesn’t know him. He’s always only been treated by the military doctors, mostly dr. Chakwas. He’d prefer for her to be here, she’s trustworthy. And less… wormy.

“I’m fine,” he says, surprised by the hoarseness of his own voice. Clearing his throat, he decides to speak as little as he can, opting to instead raise his arms a little along with his eyebrows in order to convey his question about the restraints.

“Ah, yes, that,” the doctor chuckles, “well, ever since your incident yesterday morning, we couldn’t really risk you wandering about. But don’t worry, the restraints will be off before you know it.”

Tommy turns his steely gaze into a glare when the doctor doesn’t move to untie him. He doesn’t know whether it’s the panic or the anger fuelling the tremble in his arms. He hides it with clenched fists.

“Now, what can you tell me about yesterday? Or the day of the attack?” the young man sits on a small chair next to Tommy’s bed, leaning back with his pen tapping his lips, waiting for an answer.

“I want to see my family.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to talk a bit before I can allow that,” the doctor chuckles again, “previous oversight has obviously led to your husband causing some kind of psychotic break. We can’t have a repeat of that incident. That’s why I’m here. To make sure you’re okay enough to see your family.”

Okay, it’s definitely anger now, making his heart pound. He wants to punch the smugness right off of the doctor’s face, but he can’t. He can’t do anything. Tied to a fucking bed, a thin wall between him and complete panic and he’s at the whims of a child playing a doctor.

But he’s not giving in. Tommy Shelby has always been a stubborn fucker.

“I want. To see. My family,” he says each word slowly, speaking in a calm manner. As if he were the one in control. As if he’s not afraid.

Then the doctor smiles again, “I guess you’re not up for talking to me yet,” he gets up from where he’s sitting, “need some more time alone, huh? That’s okay.”

And with that, he’s alone in the room again. None the fucking wiser.

He can’t stop the crying now. Or the fear, but he’s damned if he’s going to let anyone hear him. So fucking helpless. Just like he was in the rubble.

And that thought is all it takes.

All it takes and he’s back in the tunnel. In the dark where the ground rumbles and the claws scrape against the walls. When a loud crack is followed by giant rocks of concrete falling down and crushing them. So many people. So much screaming.

Again, the sting of the needle brings him back. The same nurse gives him a sad smile. Had he been screaming again? Doesn’t matter now. He only gets a moment of anger before the drugs numb him again.

The passage of time is meaningless to him. Every now and then the nurse brings him a bedpan or tries to feed him. He asks for a shower, just five minutes so he can stretch his limbs, but is denied by the doctor. The man seems intent on keeping him tied to the bed until he tells him what he wants to hear. A washcloth in the unsteady arms of his only caretaker is all he gets.

Tommy refuses to speak until he can see someone from his family, which seemingly condemns him to a lifetime of this torture. It doesn’t take long, however, for Tommy to notice two important facts.

One, he isn’t in the hospital wing. Some of the rooms in the hospital wing are mostly identical to the other rooms of the bunker, but the hallway isn’t. He catches a glimpse of it when the nurse leaves that one time, and it’s definitely too narrow. The hospital wing has wider hallways to accommodate gurneys.

Two, the nurse. She’s kind and empathetic and she feels bad for him. He’s being mistreated, and she knows it. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be a part of whatever it is that they’re doing to Tommy. She might be an asset. Tommy decides to make use of this.

She’s sitting at his bed, another futile attempt at feeding him some broth and he notices her sad eyes. It’s worse than usual. Tommy clears his throat. He’s kept quiet, except for the involuntary screaming, because he doesn’t want to admit any weakness, but he thinks a little bit of honesty might help his case.

“I’m scared,” he says, “the restraints make me feel trapped. You know what happened. You know we were in a tunnel collapse,” okay maybe the tears in his eyes aren’t entirely genuine, but needs must, “please. Just a little… I won’t do anything, I swear.”

He can practically hear her heart break, “I’m sorry, mister Shelby. I wish I could, but… they’ll know if I did,” she sags her shoulders.

He sighs, “then can you at least tell me what’s going on with my family?” there’s no way they know he’s here, “are they okay?”

She tenses up, then leans in to whisper, “they’re okay, but… I don’t know what you’ve done, mister Shelby, but your family is being kept away from you. They’ve been told that you’re in isolation for your own good and they’re kept too busy with work to snoop.”

“Kept busy?”

“Your sister is teaching twice as many classes as before. Your aunt has been called back from retirement and into full time work in the labs again and your brothers, along with your husband, have been sent on patrols around the bunker and near New Camden. To scout out the critters and observe the horde’s movement.”

Tommy gapes at her. Kept busy? Ada and Polly yes, maybe, but his brothers? Alfie? Out on fucking patrols near New Camden? Fucking _now_? That’s not keeping them busy. Someone’s sent them out in hopes they don’t come back.

There’s only one reason for all of this Tommy can think of. And only one man who’s capable of doing anything he can to keep it hidden.

General Chester fucking Campbell. Afraid of Tommy and the fact that he knew about the horde. That he warned him and he didn’t fucking listen. He’s the one who’s hidden him up here. The one who’s trying to keep his family away from him. That fucking arsehole. The nurse squeezes his arm gently, “maybe just tell them what they want to hear.”

He huffs a dry laugh. They don’t care what he says. He’s not here to be interrogated. They know everything already.

He’s here to be broken.

From then on, it gets worse. His mind is betraying him. First, the nightmares take away what little sleep he got. Then, he starts hearing the claws again. Steady, rhythmically, they scratch at the concrete. It feels so real, so fucking real.

His bruises heal, but there’s new ones, lining his wrists and ankles from the restraints. All of his muscles ache and it feels like he’s going to rot in this bed. Sometimes he wonders what will go first, his mind or his body. When he hears the claws again, definitely awake this time, he thinks his mind might already be gone.

Tommy knows better than to tell the nurse about what he hears. Or that prick of a doctor. But the sympathy in her eyes when she brings him meals gives him hope that she might not be a passive participant any longer. He’s proven right when he hears the click of high heels against concrete approaching his room.

When she walks in Tommy can hardly believe his eyes. For a moment, he doesn’t.

“You look like hell,” Polly says as she steps forward. The nurse stays at the open door.

“I look even worse than you, I bet,” Tommy does his best to keep his composure. He could cry, he’s so happy to see her.

Polly scoffs, “you always look worse than me,” her hands begin unclasping the restraints on his legs, but she’s not able to entirely hide the emotion in her voice. He must really look bad.

“Miss, you can’t-“

“Do us a favour, love, and wait outside,” Polly speaks over her shoulder, “to keep watch, and all,” her eyes bore into the young girl and the nurse only nods before she steps out of the room. They’re alone now.

Polly undoes his restraints and Tommy gets to breathe easy for the first time in days as he stretches out before sitting up in bed. It’s hard to move and everything hurts, but it’s a good pain. One that means he’s still alive.

“You need a bath,” Polly sits at the foot of his bed with a grimace.

“I need to get out of here,” he retorts, “Campbell’s got it out for me. For all of us.”

“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” she sighs, moving closer, pressing a gentle hand on his, looking over the marks left by his restraints, “he’s been riding us hard. The boys are out and we’ve got no way of contacting them, but I trust they know how to take care of each other. Ada and I barely get time to breathe, let alone ask questions or stir up trouble.”

“But?”

He hopes there’s a _but_.

Polly smirks, “if there’s something the Shelbys are good at, it’s causing trouble. Helps that we’ve got Lizzie, Esme and Linda on our side. Sort of. And that Captain of yours, Darius Lee.”

“So do people know?” Tommy asks hopefully, “what really happened?”

“Not really,” Polly looks away for a moment, “not anyone who matters anyways. Campbell’s quick to quench any rumours. He’s trying to discredit us. If that doesn’t work, we might just be killed off. We’re not trying to battle his words.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t you miss the woods, Tommy?” she has a wicked glint in her eyes, “the freedom to go wherever your heart desires? The sound of wind in the trees instead of steps on cold concrete and stone?”

“We’re leaving?” he sounds incredulous.

“As soon as we get the chance,” she smiles, but it falters when he doesn’t meet her enthusiasm, “he’ll be alright, Tommy. He’s got a handle on things now, the leg won’t be an issue. We’ll look out for him. He’s our kin now.”

Of course she knows Tommy’s hesitation immediately. The reason they even decided to settle down in New Camden is because Alfie struggled to keep up with the nomad lifestyle. It’s true that since they’ve moved to the settlement, Alfie has improved significantly, enough to even rise up in the military branch, but he’d still be safer there.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Not anymore. Tommy nods.

“Everyone’s got their eyes on us so getting out won’t be easy,” her eyes rake over his malnourished form, “we still need more time.”

Tommy knows what that means and he has no more tears to grieve his state. Even thinking about laying back down and putting on those restraints makes his slim frame tremble lightly, but there’s nothing to be done. He’ll just have to endure.

When she straps him back in, Polly can’t help the tears escaping her. She hugs him and leaves, telling him not to give up.

And then he’s alone again, trapped in this room and in his mind.


	2. Breakout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie doesn't do well with waiting.

Tommy feels like he’s in a haze when he hears commotion in the hallway outside the room. The sound of muffled words, someone seems upset. It’s not clear and he can’t make out the words.

Until he can.

“Tommy? Where the fuck are you?”

Alfie’s voice. Punctuated by the slightly muffled sound of doors being slammed open, getting closer and closer until-

The door to his room opens violently and Alfie’s massive form peeks inside. He looks bigger than usual, a quality granted to him when he’s angry and right now, he seems pissed. A moment of disbelief on his face when he sees Tommy is quickly replaced again by that anger when the kind nurse takes his arm.

“You’re not allowed in here-,”

He only turns his head to face her, eyes glaring daggers into her skull. There’s no need for words to convey his threat, something Tommy’s always envied. She flinches away from him without him having to do anything.

Alfie is at Tommy’s bed, unbuckling his restraints. He’s quiet and Tommy notices the slight tremor in his hands as they fiddle with the belts. The nurse hovers nervously by the door, “sir, the doctor is coming-,”

“You have about five seconds to fucking leave,” Alfie states with a deceptively level tone, not turning to face the nurse, instead finishing what he is doing. She doesn’t linger.

Once he’s freed from his shackles, Tommy lurches into Alfie’s embrace, ignoring his screaming muscles or the ache in his head. Alfie holds him gently, as if he were to break any second, and murmurs into his hair, “let’s get you out of here, love.”

“Now, now,” Tommy’s heart sinks. He buries himself deeper into Alfie’s embrace. The doctor. Fuck. He hears the torturous voice behind him, “sir, this is entirely unnecessary. Your husband’s health is our first priority and you are currently doing it no good.”

Tommy clutches to Alfie when he starts to move. He needs to keep him in line. Murdering a fucking doctor isn’t a good idea. They’ll have his head.

Alfie seems to register the silent thoughts. He tenses in Tommy’s arms, but doesn’t move away.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the doctor simply states, unaware that he’s playing with his life right now.

“Oh I’m leaving,” Alfie growls, picking up Tommy as if he weighed nothing and moving towards the door. The doctor stands in his way as he approaches the exit, but Alfie has no patience left. Tommy can feel the slight shift in his stance before his husband kicks the doctor with his prosthetic limb.

The blow lands squarely against the other man’s chest, launching him back through the open door and on the floor. Gasping sounds erupt from a man who’s clearly had the wind taken from him, but Alfie pays him no mind, stepping over his writhing form as he exits the room with Tommy in his arms.

Tommy holds on to Alfie as he’s carried away from this hell. He doesn’t have to, but it helps him feel safe. Alfie really shouldn’t be carrying him, it’s not good for his leg, but Tommy’s not sure he’s fit to walk on his own right now, so he doesn’t say anything. Only when he nestles towards the other man a little further does he notice the slight twitch betraying Alfie’s wound.

“You’re hurt,” Tommy states, cracked voice be damned, “let me down.”

“S’alright, sweetheart,” Alfie soothes, “just got a little grazed by a bullet.”

“You got shot at?” Tommy’s eyes widen.

“Your brother’s never been a good marksman, has he?” Alfie chuckles.

Tommy doesn’t quite understand, but he doesn’t get to question Alfie any longer. He hears Ada’s voice from behind: “What the hell are you doing?”

Tommy hides his face in Alfie’s chest, unable and unwilling to show how hurt he really is. He doesn’t want her to worry. Doesn’t want any of them to worry.

He feels Alfie stop and gently put him down, helping him stand by steadying him in his hands. When Tommy finally looks, he sees his sister gaping at him from a few paces away and Alfie unlocking an apartment door. Their rooms, apparently. Fuck, Tommy doesn’t want near another bed for as long as he can help it.

“You still think he could have waited some more time, hm?” Alfie says to the door he opens before ushering Tommy inside, keeping him close as he walks in with unsteady steps. There’s a distinct kind of venom in his voice.

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” Ada says meekly, staying at the door, “I’ll get the doctor-,”

“No!” Tommy protests and she’s taken aback by the fear in his voice. He doesn’t want another doctor. Doesn’t want another bed. He just needs Alfie’s arms and some fucking sleep. After she stops in her tracks, Tommy turns towards the room, weakly pulling Alfie along as he heads towards the armchair.

“Tommy, let’s get you some rest, hm?” Alfie tries to steer Tommy towards the bed but he shakes his head.

“Armchair’s fine,” he mutters, settling down on the cushioned seat, already drowsier than he’d been in days. He’s still underground, but there are no shackles binding him. So much fucking pain burning in his body, but his brain is too exhausted to care. Alfie strokes through his hair and covers him with a thin blanket. Tommy allows himself to drift off under his watchful gaze and gentle hands.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What the hell have they done to him?” Ada breathes once it’s clear Tommy’s asleep. Alfie clenches his fists as he stands up from where he’d been kneeling at his husband’s side. He sits on the bed with a groan, stretching out his right leg, rubbing along his thigh. Getting Tommy back had been… exhausting, but he’s filled with too much energy from the anger to feel tired right now.

“Get Polly,” he says and she nods, closing the door to their home as she leaves. His gaze drifts back to Tommy’s sleeping form. Fucking hell, he knew he was right. Bad fucking idea to leave Tommy at the mercy of the men who would want him silenced. Good thing Alfie told Arthur to shoot him in the arm. Only way to get sent back to the bunker, wasn’t it? Sure, Arthur may have missed and nearly killed him, but that’s not the fucking point, is it?

Ada may not have known his state, but Polly… she fucking knew. She visited him. And yet she still wanted to wait for _days_ before getting him out. Wait for Aberama’s caravans to come closer and then break him out.

Oh yeah, that part. Break Tommy out and _leave_. Great fucking plan. Running away from all of your problems. Funny way of dealing with things, but Alfie supposes that’s the Shelby way, eh? They’ve been nomads all their life, they know nothing of standing your ground when you need to. Of doing the right thing.

No, the way Alfie sees it, the problem is best dealt head on. The marks on Tommy’s too slim arms from the restraints make him want to bash that problem’s face in.

Chester fucking Campbell. He never liked that bastard.

Alfie’s thoughts are interrupted by the hurried approach of two people, Ada and Polly. There’s poorly hidden anger on the older woman’s face as she speaks, still considerate enough to try and not wake Tommy, “you are a selfish and weak little man.”

“Look at him,” Ada points, “Alfie did the right thing.”

“She knows very well what he looks like,” Alfie spits, “she just doesn’t care.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she speaks quietly, “we’ve all made sacrifices. You weren’t even here.”

There’s a silence that stretches on for several seconds before Ada crosses her arms, “what now?”

That seems to snap Polly into action, “everyone needs to pack their things. We’re leaving now. Lee will probably help us steal a car and some rations, we can wait for the caravans in the southern woods.”

“No,” Alfie doesn’t look up from his hands.

Polly tenses up in her anger and moves close, forcing him to look at her as she leans into his space, “I know far too many men like you. You want to stay here and risk all of our lives so you can have your little revenge, your _justice_. Fucking bask in your own self-righteousness as you damn us all to hell,” she takes a deep breath, “nobody cares who’s right when the guns are drawn. You might not care about throwing all of our lives away but I sure do. If you stay, there will be blood on your hands.”

Alfie looks away, “we’re not leaving.”

Polly straightens back up.

“Fine,” she says, face impassive again, pulling Ada by her forearm as she leaves.

Alfie throws himself back against the bed and breathes deeply. She’s wrong. He’s not going to be a coward about this. Campbell needs to be dealt with. This isn’t just about the Shelbys and Alfie anymore. Someone needs to show that arrogant arsehole that actions have consequences. Set a fucking example. It’s not going to be fucking easy, but it’s… it’s the right thing to do.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit shorter, but I hope you enjoyed :D


	3. Chafe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie wonders if he's chosen the right path.

Esme and the kids are gone by evening, probably picking up John on their way into the woods. Ada goes with them. Polly stays. So does Linda. Alfie spots them when he goes into the canteen to get some food for himself and Tommy. The other man had been sleeping for the better part of the day.

Alfie takes a seat at their table as he waits for his food to be prepared.

“Still here, I see,” he says, not sure if he should be angry or relieved.

“I’m waiting for you to see the error of your ways,” she says behind her cigarette, sparing a glance towards Linda, “you too.”

“I’m not raising a child in the wilderness,” Linda casually says, not paying Alife much attention, “and once Arthur comes back, he will stay as well.”

Polly huffs, eyes back on Alfie, “how’s my nephew?”

“Sleeping,” Alfie says noncommittally.

“He’ll suffer down here,” she says coldly, “confined to small spaces. No grass, no horses. No fucking freedom.”

Alfie decides against rolling his eyes, “he’ll be just fine.”

If only.

By the time Alfie returns to their small chambers, Tommy is huddled in a corner, wide eyes darting wildly across the room, panicked huffs escaping him as he struggles to breathe.

Alfie sets down the food quickly and approaches Tommy the same way he would a wounded animal. He makes himself small as he crouches, even though it hurts like a bitch, and inches forward towards his husband, speaking soothingly, “it’s alright, Tommy, sweetheart. You’re safe, hm?”

Tommy closes his eyes and shrinks even further into himself, but he doesn’t flinch away when Alfie puts a tentative hand on his shoulder. Alfie sits himself down on the floor beside him, pulling Tommy onto his lap to hold him. Tommy clutches at the fabric of Alfie’s shirt and buries his face in the other man’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, love,” Alfie nuzzles lightly into Tommy’s hair, “had a nightmare, hm?”

He can feel Tommy nod against his skin.

“When are we leaving?” Tommy asks quietly. It makes something catch in Alfie’s throat, but he carries on regardless, “we’re not leaving. We’re going to deal with Campbell and then it will be safe again. New Camden will get rebuilt and we’ll have a home again, hm?”

Tommy doesn’t answer. He stays where he is, clutching at Alfie. Minutes pass before he moves to stand on shaky legs with Alfie’s help.

“I’m taking a shower,” he says and disappears from sight, leaving Alfie to throw himself back onto the bed with a grunt. The past few days haven’t been kind to his body and in quiet moments like these he gets to feel the extent of his injuries and exhaustion.

He hikes up his pants to remove the straps from his prosthetic, letting it down on the floor gently before covering up his right leg with a blanket. The chafing is a problem, but he can’t afford to be off of his leg for days. Not right now. Alfie leans back against the wall with a cushion behind his lower back, pressing his left hand over the bandaged bullet wound on his right side.

It burns, but it’s worse when he’s moving. Fuck, he needs to change the bandages. Maybe use some cream on his leg. A fucking nap wouldn’t hurt either. His stomach rumbles, reminding him of the food he’s left on the counter.

No fucking rest for the wicked yet, he decides, leaning forward and reaching for the crutches he stored beneath their bed. He hears the water run from the other room as he moves towards the counter. Alfie sits down on one of the barstools, leans the crutches against the counter and unpacks their lunch, setting Tommy’s food in front of the chair next to him.

He thinks about their situation. A political campaign against Campbell would be arduous, long and not necessarily successful. Restoration efforts are likely to hinder any progress in that front, because people won’t really care to persecute him while they’re all busy getting their lives back. Sure, some civilians might be fuelled enough by revenge to usurp him, but would they be enough?

They could cause a mutiny in the military. Many of the Lieutenants and Captains have lost good men to this horde and too few of them know their deaths could have been prevented. Alfie’s tried to spread the word already, but many believed him to be mad even before all this happened, so there isn’t much support. Fuck.

Campbell is smart. He’s buried them in work to keep them exhausted and hasn’t been outwardly hostile. The worst thing he’s done is his mistreatment of Tommy, but he could easily dispute that, blaming Tommy’s state on shell shock and having no witnesses to the abuse besides his family. There’s that one nurse, but… would she even say anything? Would that even be enough?

Alfie’s head starts to hurt. Once he’s unpacked the food, he notices he’s fucking forgotten the fucking cutlery. He throws back his head, muttering some curses before grabbing his fucking crutches again.

Maybe Polly was right. Fuck. Alfie Solomons is NOT a fucking coward and he will NOT run away. He stands and goes to the fucking counters, scouring for two forks and knives. His blood is close to boiling at this point. He’s tired, hungry and at the edge with his fucking patience.

The door to the bathroom opens and Tommy walks out in Alfie’s clothes.

“Sorry, forgot to take mine into the bathroom,” he says fidgeting with the strings of Alfie’s grey sweatpants. He looks younger like this and it melts some of the tension from Alfie’s shoulders.

Alfie smiles, “no worries. Sit down, let’s get some food in you.”

“I’m not hungry,” Tommy says, but sits down regardless, waiting for Alfie to bring him his utensils.

Alfie encourages him to eat regardless before wolfing down his own food. After Tommy’s eaten about half of his portion, Alfie takes his crutches and retrieves their med kit, sitting himself down on the bed.

Tommy wordlessly sits down next to him and bats his hands away when they reach for the bandages. Alfie raises a quizzical eyebrow but Tommy doesn’t say anything, reaching for Alfie’s shirt to help him take it off. Alfie complies. He lets Tommy take off his shirt. Lets him take off his bandages and fuss over his wound before redressing it. Lets him do the same with his leg. It feels almost normal. Tommy seems like himself.

Once he’s in his underwear, Tommy helps him lay on his back and covers him with their duvet. Alfie lifts his left arm invitingly. Tommy hesitates.

“It’s alright,” Tommy gently takes the arm and kisses the palm, “you take a nap. I’m not tired.”

It’s an obvious lie, but Alfie decides to let it go, dozing off to the feeling of Tommy’s fingers raking through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be gone for the weekend, but updates should return on Monday :)  
> Hope you enjoyed it :) <3


	4. What needs to be done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie and Tommy talk. Decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back :D hope you had a lovely weekend :D Enjoy !

“Your wound is healing nicely,” doctor Chakwas begins rewrapping Alfie’s chest, “but your leg needs more rest. I’m glad you came here with your crutches but it’s obvious you haven’t been using them nearly enough.”

“It’s not that bad, really,” Alfie tries to plead, sitting on the small chair as the doctor levels him with an unimpressed glare.

She sighs, “I’d love to speak to Lieutenant Shelby, but apparently he’s been assigned to another doctor. One that he’s been avoiding, I hear.”

“One that strapped him to a bed for days,” Alfie mutters.

“Yes, I’ve heard that as well,” she says quietly, “I’m being… _encouraged_ to deem you healthy enough to return to the field. Some nonsense about there being not enough soldiers out there.”

He huffs at that.

“I can argue you’re not fit, but I can only do that as long as you’re my patient. Which might change soon,” she looks away, thoughtful and more than a little angry, “you know I believe you. About the horde. You two boys always had a sense for trouble.”

Alfie nods, “yeah, glad to hear that.”

“Stay off the leg as long as you can,” she hands him back his shirt, “when they assign you to a different doctor the state of your leg won’t matter. You’ll be sent out in the restoration efforts. Don’t let them work you to death. After we’re back in New Camden, you can bring Campbell to justice.”

Alfie sighs and nods, leaving doctor Chakwas’s examination room and slowly going back to his and Tommy’s rooms. Restorations are going to take a while and he’s not sure if he could handle the manual labour that’s surely to come. Tommy might be a problem too.

There have been several attempts to take him to the hospital wing. Alfie wanted to sneak him to doctor Chakwas just for a check-up and Tommy hid in the bathroom until he was promised no doctors.

Polly had taken over, checking Tommy’s bruises and healing scrapes, not failing to glare at Alfie any opportunity she got. There have also been nurses, trying to take him there, but Alfie doesn’t trust the new doctor. So Tommy is confined mostly to their bedroom, still sleeping anywhere but the bed, plagued by nightmares.

Sometimes he wanders off and Alfie has to find him, often hiding in corners, eyes staring at the walls, afraid they’ll all crack and crumble down on him. He’s promised Alfie several times he’ll stop wandering off, but it’s like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it when it happens.

Today, Tommy’s in their room when Alfie comes back. He’s not even sitting in a corner, or anything, just drinking his tea at the counter. Alfie should be relieved, but there’s something about his husband’s expression that makes him reluctant to celebrate.

Tommy’s been quieter than usual and it feels like he’s… _off_ , sort of. Something in his eyes. It’s there again today.

“How was it?” Tommy asks as Alfie comes closer to him, sitting on a barstool and setting his crutches aside.

Alfie waves a hand to dismiss the question, instead reaching for Tommy and pulling him close between his legs, thighs squeezing Tommy’s midsection as he leans back on the counter, “’t was fine. How are you doing, love?”

“Fine,” Tommy answers, his hands falling on Alfie’s hips. Yeah, Alfie hasn’t bought that lie for days now. He doesn’t know whether it’s the looming threat of being sent away again or him just having enough of waiting for Tommy to open up, but Alfie presses on.

“You’re a bad liar, Thomas.”

Tommy snorts, settling his head on Alfie’s chest, “I’m an excellent liar.”

After some silence, Alfie brings up his left hand to Tommy’s back, gently caressing it, “you never told me what happened.”

“You know,” Tommy tenses up slightly.

“Not all of it, not from your perspective,” he sighs, “I’d like to know.”

Tommy looks like he’s about to say no, maybe move away, maybe get mad, and Alfie is ready to take back his words when the silence stretches on for a little too long. Before he can voice any concern, Tommy speaks up.

“We went back north,” his tone is flat, as if he’s retelling someone else’s story, “there were too many creatures. We got stuck on a street and holding a perimeter around the civilians wasn’t viable with the horde so close. We had little choice, so we moved underground. The abandoned subways,” his voice falters a little, but he continues on, “Freddie blew up the entrance behind us so they wouldn’t follow our scents underground. The walls shook, but they held. We were safe… as much as we could have been,” his arms slither around Alfie’s waist and hold him.

“The soldiers and civilians wanted to rest, so we sat down a little, but it was soon clear we needed to keep moving. The critters could smell us. They… started digging. We needed to move, so we did,” the hands around Alfie tighten, “we couldn’t rest. Any time we stopped even for a little, the claws that dug kept coming closer until… We heard the walls crack one moment and the next we were buried.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, “over three hundred people in the rubble. Freddie and Danny were the ones who dug me out. Others weren’t so lucky.”

Alfie keeps stroking Tommy’s back.

“The critters were everywhere,” Tommy backs up, letting go of Alfie to rub his face, “Twelve of us got out, found a vehicle and left… except we didn’t,” he looks Alfie in the eyes, a strange vulnerability reflected in his pearly blues, “I can still hear them, Alfie. Even when I’m awake. They scrape at the fucking concrete. I know it’s not real. I know, I’m just…” Tommy’s hands come to cover his face as he begins to cry and Alfie wraps him up in an embrace from where he’s sitting.

“Shh, love, it’s alright,” he tries to calm Tommy down, but the other man doesn’t seem consolable.

“I’m broken in the head, Alfie,” he lets himself be held.

Alfie’s heart breaks and he has to actively keep his own tears down, “it’s okay, love, you’re not broken. You’ll be fine.”

“They’re always there, always clawing at the fucking walls. I don’t fucking know what’s real anymore-,”

“Shh,” he holds him tighter. Fucking hell, he had no idea it was this bad. He thought the first night was just an episode because of Tommy’s exhaustion, but this… puts things into perspective. Alfie holds Tommy and rocks them both slightly, giving his husband a safe space to cry. After Tommy’s calmed down somewhat, Alfie finally speaks up, “did you know they kept our caravans? The Lees? Esme made sure they would. Kept them just as they were, using them as storage, mostly.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything to that, so Alfie goes on, “Campbell’s going to get what’s coming to him, but that doesn’t mean we have to be his slaves until then. What do you say we fuck off, hm? Spend some time amongst the trees?”

“You don’t want to leave,” Tommy protests.

“Nah, mate,” Alfie immediately tuts, “that’s not fucking true, is it? This is a pretty miserable fucking place, mate. Fuck this. Let’s leave. Bet your aunt has a plan to get us out already.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Polly leans on her doorframe, cigarette in hand, smirking like the old hag that she is.

Alfie has the decency to look like a kicked puppy as he stands in front of her with their stuff packed and Tommy by his side. They’ve packed light, but it’s mostly carried by Alfie anyways, because Tommy can barely carry his own weight right now. It’s not good for his leg, but Alfie doesn’t really give a fuck.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, “let’s get the fuck out of here and then you can lecture me all about the folly of pride, right?”

Polly grins, “I’m looking forward to that.”

Alfie’s nervous when they move across the hallways. It feels like everyone’s watching them. Polly doesn’t seem concerned with any of their glances, walking confidently, if briskly to their destination. Apparently, Captain Lee secured a vehicle with several days’ worth of rations to bring to the boys back up north. He’ll report the vehicle stolen once they’re a safe distance from the bunker.

It seems so easy. Actually, it all seemed too easy. Why wasn’t there an inquiry after some of the Shelbys just disappeared? Not a fucking word from anyone. Wouldn’t they try to stop them? If nothing else, it sets precedent for others who would think to leave, now that the community is in trouble. It makes no sense that Campbell wouldn’t crack down on them as hard as he could. At least on the ones who stayed to prevent them leaving.

And it’s not just that. Alfie was constantly threatened to be returned to active duty, Tommy was pestered to go to the doctor. No actions, only incentives to leave. Almost as if…

Alfie stops dead in his tracks.

“You made a deal with Campbell,” he says to the back of Polly’s head.

“I did what I had to do,” she doesn’t even turn to answer.

Alfie’s blood is boiling. Tommy doesn’t react. He’s probably preoccupied with ignoring his hallucinations. Fucking shit, Alfie really wants to fucking stomp back into their rooms, lock the doors and plot against everyone, but he has to admit Polly’s right. Tommy needs to get out of here.

Doesn’t mean he can’t do anything about Campbell.

“Wait for me at the car,” he says, turning around. He doesn’t wait for a response before disappearing from view.

Alfie doesn’t like feeling helpless. He doesn’t like being pushed so far and fucking frankly, so much fucking anger, well, it just ain’t healthy to carry all that shit around, innit?

He needs some catharsis, right, some outlet for all this rage that’s been building up and well, he’s got a good idea on how to… let off some steam, yeah.

His hands don’t shake as he steps into the annoyingly ornate office, his steps don’t falter when he’s questioned about his presence and his pulse stays the same as he pulls the trigger.

Campbell’s blood splashes across his face, but he doesn’t wait for his lifeless corpse to fall to the ground before running away. The rest becomes a blur. He’s being shot at, that much is sure, but he manages to get to the car unscathed. Polly’s livid gaze leaves him only enough to ensure they all get out of the gates alive.


	5. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy tries to piece himself together after the escape, but things seem to fall apart.

“Tommy?” Alfie reaches for his husband. He sighs when he feels nothing. So much for Tommy’s promise to sleep inside tonight.

After they’d escaped the bunker and met up with the Lees, Tommy was able to breathe easy for the first time in weeks. Still, there’s no miracle cure for the type of trauma he’d went through, so of course there’d still be trouble.

One, Tommy can’t sleep inside. Alfie first noticed this when he woke up from a particularly bad nightmare in the middle of the night to an empty bed. When he exited their caravan, he found Tommy asleep in one of the empty wagons, wrapped tightly in their thickest duvet. Turns out he’d been waiting for Alfie to fall asleep and then sneaking out to get a few hours himself. He’d always wake up before Alfie so getting back in bed before the other man awoke had never been an issue.

Two, Tommy still hallucinates. He tries to hide it, but there’s a telling stiffness to his posture when he hears the claws or sees something that isn’t there. It doesn’t happen too often, but Alfie still worries. It’s worst in the evenings.

Three, Tommy barely speaks or eats anymore. Not that he’d ever been a particularly hungry chatterbox, but now it seems hard for him to keep up with his base needs. Despite exiting the bunker, he’s still losing weight. Weight he can’t afford to lose.

Alfie sighs. They’d talked at length about this. About the claws and the nightmares and the food. It doesn’t seem to help. Alfie isn’t sure how to deal with this. Sure, there’s no problem with Tommy sleeping outside while the weather allows it, but what is he going to do once winter comes? Alfie heaves himself out of their bed and grabs his crutches. Sure enough, he spots Tommy in the large wagon. He only eyes it for a moment before setting the crutches away and heaving himself inside.

He makes his way under the covers and presses tightly to Tommy’s back. He’s already cold. It’s not even autumn.

Tommy stirs when he hears movement, “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, but doesn’t turn to face Alfie.

“It’s alright, love,” Alfie nuzzles the back of his neck, “we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Tommy presses his scrawny figure closer to Alfie and it’s too easy to envelop him. He’s so fucking small Alfie’s afraid he might disappear.

John and Esme are off with the Lees for a while with the kids and that’s probably for the best. The atmosphere at the Shelby camp has been… off, to say the least. Polly’s been resolutely ignoring Alfie. She’s mad at him for his recklessness and her icy silence is one rivalling Tommy’s. Alfie tries to ignore it, he’s as stubborn as any of them. They mostly live alongside each other in silent glares. Ada gets annoyed with them, but she doesn’t feel like playing mediator. It’ll only get her caught in the middle. Besides, she’s busy with Arthur.

Linda’s still at the camp with their kid. She made it clear she doesn’t want to leave and she might even still be waiting for Arthur to come back, even if he’d be quartered for what Alfie did. Arthur is mad at Alfie for taking away his option of returning to his wife, but secretly, Alfie thinks, he might be relieved. Arthur’s choice was made for him and he can’t be blamed for picking his siblings. Doesn’t mean he’s happy about that right now.

Alfie’s aware that without John, him, Polly and Ada are the only protection this camp has right now, with an eager Finn being more trouble than he is help. That means more patrols, which leaves Alfie less time with Tommy and that makes him nervous, makes him unfocused and not much of a fucking help at all.

It’s no surprise that he misses the critter when he does. It tackles him right off of his horse and he’s got its ugly black maw right in his face. Military training and experience keep him from panicking and getting his face bitten clean off. When the creature reels back, he quickly puts his right arm in front of its face, reaching for his knife with the other. Once the critter sinks its teeth into his forearm, Alfie stabs it in the side of its face, right between two chitin plates and twists.

The creature’s grip on his arm falters as soon as it began and he kicks it off. Fucking hell, what an annoyance. His arm is bleeding, but it’s just a flesh wound. Still burns like a motherfucker. He wraps some cloths around the worst of it and finishes his patrol.

Once he’s back at the camp, he removes the cloth and hisses as he pours some water over his arm to clean the wounds. Tommy runs up to him once he sees him.

“What happened?” he takes Alfie’s arm and inspects it carefully.

“Just a small bite, I’m okay,” Alfie answers.

Tommy runs into their caravan and returns with some gauze and rubbing alcohol.

“How did this happen?” Polly inquires, leaning against the wooden wall, arms crossed.

“Got a little distracted.”

“Hm, maybe you’re spread a little thin,” she says, voice void of any sympathy. Is she mocking him?

“I’m doing just fucking fine, thank you Pol,” he answers bitterly, flinching a little when he feels Tommy clean his wound.

“I can go next,” Tommy offers so silently, Alfie wonders if he’d heard it right.

“Not a fucking chance,” Polly and Alfie say in unison, but that only seems to strengthen Tommy’s resolve.

“I’m going next,” he says, glaring at them both, pouring a bit more alcohol on Alfie’s arm than strictly necessary and his tone bodes no argument. Polly huffs and goes away while Alfie sighs, letting Tommy finish bandaging it up.

“It’s really nothing love,” Alfie tries to soothe, “I can handle myself. Just got caught a little off guard. It happens. You don’t have to do this.”

“I can do this,” Tommy doesn’t look up from Alfie’s arm, “and I will.”

And so he does.

Alfie sits down by the warm fire as his husband gets ready to leave, pouting. But an hour later, Tommy’s back and in one piece. From then on, he takes over some of the patrols. Alfie, however, still thinks it’s too soon and he voices that whenever he gets a chance to.

Because Tommy still can’t sleep inside.

The next few weeks are a little better. Tommy gets some of his weight back. It’s a slow crawl, but he’s able to stomach more food now, seemingly out of sheer spite towards Alfie, who keeps insisting he take it easy.

One rainy night Alfie is able to convince Tommy to stay inside, though it’s difficult to say if he’s able to sleep. And then there’s the hallucinations. Alfie usually catches the signs early enough to soothe Tommy with a gentle touch and some of his ramblings. To drown out the noise. It seems to work just fine, but he can’t always be there when it happens.

A spooked Dangerous runs back across the fields towards their camp. They’re at a more open area and there’s a small patch of trees to the south, suspiciously quiet. Tommy said he’d check it out.

But the horse comes back alone.

Fuck. He knew this couldn’t fucking end well. So many fucking things that could have happened. Alfie grunts as he heaves himself up, securing his prosthetic. He can’t think about anything right now, he just needs to find Tommy.

Polly comes to stand at his side, “I’ll take the horse, you sure you can go on your own?”

Before he can answer, Ada appears with both their horses, “he’s not going on his own. Here,” she hands him the reins to his horse, “I’m coming with.”

They don’t waste time as they gallop past the black horse and into the woods, trying to follow the scared animal’s tracks. Alfie’s really never been any fucking good at it, but Ada knows these things well enough. Sometimes he thinks it’s in their blood. Gypsies and all that.

They’re shouting Tommy’s name as they scour the forest for any signs, but there’s no answer. Not that Alfie could hear it, he thinks, seeing as all he can hear is the blood rushing in his head and his heartbeat in his throat.

Tommy could have fallen off, hit his head, lying dead in the underbrush somewhere. He could have been attacked by one of those beings and ignored the warning signs thinking it was a hallucination. He could have-

“Tommy!” Ada gallops ahead and Alfie soon follows, spotting the small figure next to an old tree stump. Alfie dismounts and hands the reins to Ada, slowly approaching his husband.

Tommy’s curled in on himself, sitting on the floor, a wildness to his eyes similar to the one he’d had that night after the attack.

“Tommy?” Alfie tries quietly, but Tommy doesn’t seem to hear. He reaches out a tentative hand to touch Tommy’s forearm, but Tommy bolts away from his touch pressing his back against the tree. He’s terrified and he fumbles a little, but manages to reach for his gun and point it at Alfie.

“Tommy, no!” Ada shouts but Alfie tells her to stay still. He himself freezes on the spot. For some reason, his mind goes back a couple years, to the fucking pharmacy where he’d met Tommy. An odd place for his mind to go, but he guesses it’s things like these people see before they die.

He’d met the love of his life by shoving a gun in his face. Alfie takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Sort of funny he should go this way, he thinks.

Alfie waits, but the gun doesn’t go off. Curious, he opens his eyes. Tommy’s still clutching the gun, pointed at Alfie, the manic glint is still there in his eyes. He’s mumbling something.

“You’re not… they don’t hesitate,” he shakes his head, slowly lowering the gun, “what the fuck is going on?”

Alfie takes a deep breath and looks over his shoulder. Neither him nor Ada are sure what to do.

“Tommy, can you hear me?” Alfie asks gently, still not moving closer.

“...are you real?” Tommy mumbles, slumping slightly.

“Yeah, I’m real. I’m going to come closer now, right? Going to touch you,” Alfie takes a hesitant step and places his hand over Tommy’s, feeling the other man’s grip on his weapon falter, allowing Alfie to take it away.

Now that he’s unarmed, Tommy seems resigned to whatever his fate may be, not fighting as Alfie pulls him close. He’s slack, unresponsive. Alfie shakes him a little, but…

He’s… he’s fucking _catatonic_ , Alfie notices. Ada helps him carry Tommy to the horse and they are able to sit him up in front of Alfie with some difficulty, but once he’s up he stays upright on his own, only leaning back on Alfie a little bit. No one says anything on their way back.

Tommy’s put to bed without any struggle. Once Alfie tucks him in, heart breaking at the sight of empty blue eyes staring at the ceiling, Polly motions for him to join her outside. They couldn’t get a single reaction from Tommy, no response to his name, not even at the needle Polly had stuck in his arm. Fucking nothing.

“How do we fix it?” Alfie asks once he steps on the grass. Surely, this witch of witches has some fucking salve, as she always fucking does, to help Tommy snap out of this.

“I don’t know,” she takes out a cigarette and lights it up. Her eyes go glassy, “his mother went the same way.”

Alfie’s throat catches, “what the fuck do you mean _went_? It’s not fucking deadly, eh? Just something with his head, right? He just needs fucking time or chamomile or something.”

Polly looks at him with sad eyes and he fucking hates it. She should be mocking him, teasing, saying something at fucking all. But she just fucking _looks_ at him and he can’t fucking well take it anymore.

“Say he just needs some fucking time,” he repeats.

She takes a deep breath, “his mother didn’t take the slaughter of Small Heath well-,”

“I don’t fucking care what-,”

“She kept seeing things, hearing them, things no one else could see or hear. She said she spoke to the dead. There were other noises, too,” Polly interrupts, undeterred, “the creatures. I don’t know what set it off, but one day she became like this,” she motions towards the caravan, “didn’t speak, didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, not really. There was nothing we could do,” her hands tremble, “it was almost a mercy killing, in the end.”

“Killing?” You murdered her?”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” she says sharply, “my brother didn’t want her as a burden anymore… so he dealt with her himself. None of us knew, but… even if he hadn’t, she’d have starved or thrown herself into the river sooner or later.”

“We are _not_ hurting Tommy,” he says, threat evident in his voice. Her sharp eyes meet his, “you better hope _we_ aren’t. Because we chased away my brother for what he did and we will do much worse to you if you even think about doing that to him.”

It’s a silent standoff, but the message is clear. Tommy is safe with them, at least as much as he can be, given his state of mind.

“Go lay down, make sure he doesn’t wander,” she says, softer this time, “I’ll ask around with the Lees. Maybe they know something about this we don’t.”

Alfie nods and steps back into the caravan, taking off his shoes and prosthetic before settling in bed next to Tommy, who hasn’t moved an inch. He sighs, shuffling closer and taking Tommy’s arm into his, stroking the ring on his husband’s finger, rambling about everything and nothing. He can’t stand the fucking silence.


	6. Awake

Calloused fingers trace idle lines across pale skin. It’s been a week, Alfie thinks uselessly, gazing at his husband’s profile. Tommy hasn’t spoken, moved on his own or responded to pain. Hasn’t shown any signs of life, other than his steady breaths and weak heartbeat.

Polly said Tommy’s awake, he’s just lost in his mind somewhere. He needs constant supervision and care and Alfie is… tired. He presses closer, resting his forehead on Tommy’s shoulder. He can’t bare staring at those empty eyes.

Hasn’t Tommy been through fucking enough? What’s the fucking need for this shite?

There’s a knock on the wood, “my turn,” he hears Ada’s muffled voice from outside.

Alfie feels relief wash over him for getting a couple hours away from Tommy, but it’s immediately swallowed by terrible guilt. He can’t help wanting to be away from him, it’s just… too hard to stay and watch him like this.

He steps outside, nods to Ada, with her sad fucking smiles and comforting looks, and feels like a total piece of shit. The crisp air of autumn fills his lungs and he gladly accepts the tea offered to him by Polly.

“I got word back from Esme’s mother,” she says solemnly.

Alfie takes a deep breath, “what’s the news?”

“They’ve had some people like this,” she sips her own cup leading Alfie to sit by the fire, “most don’t recover. They slip away, get lost in the woods or… just die.”

“Most?”

“They’ve had a couple who’ve gotten better. Snapped out of it as if it were a bad dream, but… it took weeks, sometimes months. One girl was like this for a couple years.”

Alfie nods, looking down at his steaming tea, “Tommy’s a stubborn bastard… he’ll make it.”

“He better,” she agrees.

Months pass and nothing changes, but Alfie learns to deal. It’s his new routine, watching over Tommy, taking care of him like a fucking nurse. He talks to him, all the while, telling him stories about his day, about John’s new new new _new_ kid, Polly’s new boyfriend Aberama. Tommy just stares into nothingness. Sometimes he has to step away, take a breath and have someone else watch Tommy, because there’s only so much he can fucking take, but he doesn’t abandon him. He could never.

It’s cold outside, the winter chill leaving small icicles on Alfie’s beard. Polly’s with Tommy right now, with Alfie on patrol. He’s taking Dangerous today, she needs the exercise. A good horse, temperamental though.

The horse halts and Alfie pets the side of its neck, “yeah that’s enough, innit? Don’t like being too far away from him either, eh?”

They turn around and head back. It’s been peaceful this winter, fewer critters than Alfie’s used to. That’s the thing with bigger settlements, the scents attract more of those fuckers. It’s a welcome break, back in the wilderness, even if his leg might protest a bit.

Once back at the camp, Alfie gladly takes the warm cup of tea offered by Esme and relieves Polly. She exits their caravan and he sets down the tea by the heater, taking off his outer layers so he can settle in bed with Tommy. Might read him some more today. If his fucking eyes will allow him.

“That horse of yours is a right diva, ain’t it?” he says absentmindedly, taking the tea and lumbering towards their bed.

“Dangerous.”

“Yeah, that’s right, Dan-,”

Alfie stops dead in his tracks. Did- did that really just happen?

“Tommy?”

Tommy’s eyes. They’re moving.

Uncertain, searching, but _fucking alive_.

Alfie sets the tea back down and hurries over to his husband, awkwardly leaning over him, giving those uncertain eyes something to focus on.

And when those pretty blue eyes settle on his, looking at him, finally fucking _looking_ , Alfie can’t help the grin spreading across his face.

“Alfie,” Tommy’s voice is hoarse, which seems to surprise him, judging by the furrow of his brow. Alfie thinks his name never sounded better.

“Good morning, angel,” Alfie croaks out, “been gone for a while, haven’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a couple days, sorry :/ was swamped with work and I know this one's a bit short, but I hope you liked it :D


	7. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later, Alfie finds a house. Maybe even a home.

_Six months later_

Alfie spots the little cottage on one of their detours through the fields in northern England. It’s a small rundown thing next to a small forest and a river. He goes closer out of sheer morbid curiosity, though he tells the others he’s going to scavenge it.

It’s a small building, mostly brick, surrounded by a wooden fence and lots of grass. Some of the shingles seem to have fallen off, there’s vines creeping up the cracked façade with exposed bricks and the windows are smashed. Alfie thinks it’s the most charming little thing.

He gives the door an experimental shove. It’s sturdy and dark, seemingly untouched by the decay that’s taken over the rest of the place. Alfie turns the handle and finds it unlocked. He treads lightly over the dusty dark wooden floors inside. There’s a kitchen and a living room at the front of the house, separated by a small hallway that leads to a tiny bathroom with some bird nests in the sink and a precarious staircase.

Alfie carefully ascends the steps into the small first floor, the wooden boards creaking underneath his feet as he explores. Behind cobwebs he finds a bedroom and larger bathroom and what seems to be a study lined with rows of untouched books. Whoever lived here seems to have left in a hurry, judging by the disarray in the bedroom.

“Alfie?”

The door downstairs creaks carefully and he hears Tommy call out to him.

“Up here,” he answers, slowly going down the stairs.

After Tommy’s episode, the road to recovery was rocky, to say the least. Hallucinations and nightmares still plague him sometimes, but he’s able to sleep inside and he eats an almost normal amount of food, which Alfie counts as a monumental victory. He looks less and less like the pale skeleton which sometimes shows up in Alfie’s nightmares.

Things are good.

“Found anything?” Tommy asks, glancing around, eyes tracing the landscapes on some of the paintings hung along the main corridor.

“Maybe,” Alfie takes Tommy’s hand in his, “what do you think of this place?”

“It’s an old house. No valuables.”

“Except maybe the house itself.”

Tommy eyes him with some confusion, “alright, Alfie. Out with it.”

“Thought it would make a nice home, you know, for us. Of course it needs some care, but I think you might like it here. There’s a garden, a fence. We could probably build some stables and the roof is falling off so making a skylight might not even be that hard, eh? Help you sleep in the bedroom. Your family would pass us every now and then, so you wouldn’t have to give that up completely, and it’s remote enough. Safe.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious he’s busy thinking it through. He begins wandering the place the same way Alfie had, eyeing it and its possibilities.

After a while, Alfie breaks the silence, “it’s not going anywhere, so you don’t have to make a decision right now.”

“I know.”

“Even if you say no, I get it, it was just a thought.”

“I know.”

“Right,” Alfie nods, following Tommy. They leave the house without taking anything, but both men make sure to note its position.

In the coming months, Tommy doesn’t mention it and neither does Alfie, assuming Tommy just doesn’t like living in buildings. It’s understandable, if a little disappointing, but he can live with it. Soon enough, he puts the whole issue out of his mind.

Which is why he is surprised when one day, out of the blue, Tommy says, “when we’re fixing the house up, you better not be doing any heavy lifting.”

It takes a moment for him to register the words, another to realise what they mean.

“Well, I can’t just let you and your brothers do all the work.”

“Alfie, I’m tying you to a tree if you so much as lift a fucking plank.”

“That might be necessary, yeah,” he ponders, unable to hold back his smile.

It is, in fact, not necessary, though it might have been considered nicer than what they did, which was taking away Alfie’s prosthetic the first time he tried to climb up on the roof. Unacceptable, he thinks as he pouts on the grass, watching the Shelbys work away at his home. Tommy does make sure to make it up to him later, though, devilishly good as he is with his tongue, so Alfie doesn’t stay mad for too long.

The house is repaired sooner than they thought it would be and Tommy and Alfie move in. Tommy thinks it’s funny that Alfie manages to clutter that amount of space up the same way he’s cluttered up their caravan, the trinkets and odd collectibles seemingly multiplying every time they step back into the house. Alfie wonders how many times he can wrongly rearrange the books in the bookshelves before he gets murdered by his husband in his sleep.

All in all, the house is working out great. Better than they’d expected it to. Tommy’s nerves have calmed down and Alfie’s leg gets more rest.

“Alfie, wake up,” a soothing voice pulls Alfie from his peaceful slumber. He blinks a couple of times, cracking his back as he sits upright. Must’ve fallen asleep on the couch again.

It takes him a moment to process the scene before him. It’s Tommy. Covered in… black blood. Fuck. Well, Alfie’s awake now. He bolts upright, almost falling, since he hasn’t got his prosthetic on, balancing on one leg as Tommy helps him stand, steadying him with blood covered arms.

“I’m alright, Alfie,” he’s smiling.

Why the fuck is he smiling?

“The fuck happened? You hurt?” Alfie mumbles, brain not entirely caught up yet.

“I’m not hurt, sit down,” Tommy helps him back onto the couch, “I killed one today, Alfie,” he smiles, “a real one. No hallucinations, no panic. I saw it and I killed it.”

Alfie lets out a deep breath, “lovely, sweetheart, I’m very proud of you,” and he is, “but may I ask, why the fuck are you covered in its bodily fluids?”

Tommy shuffles on his feet a little, “had to make sure it was real.”

Alfie nods. Right, of course he did.

“Well, it _was_ real,” he affirms, “so I guess you ought to receive a reward, hm? Not before you take a bath though.”

Tommy smiles and disappears into the bathroom. Alfie leans back on the couch, taking in his environment. The fireplace is empty right now, but he’s sure Tommy will have nice fire going by the evening. Through the window, daylight illuminates the comfy warm room. Across the items scattered along the shelves Alfie can think of a story behind each any every one of them, finally settling his gaze on a piece metal wire, coiled around a stuffed crow.

He thinks back to the day he’d tripped over that thing and feels the scar still present on his chest because of his own fucking stupidity. Alfie chuckles as he remembers how stupid the whole situation was. If he could go back and do it over again, he’d fucking fling himself onto the blades of that damned barbed wire.

How else would he have met the love of his life?

What other life would even be worth living?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, so this is it! The last chapter.  
> Hope you enjoyed the ride :D
> 
> Am probably taking a break from posting, but I'm thinking on working on a Mermaid AU. I actually have a lot of it written down already, but am not sure if I'll have the time for it.  
> What say you? Grumpy Fisherman Alfie and Beautiful Mermaid Tommy? Hmmm....


End file.
